


Another Fearless Episode

by wanderingoverthewords



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingoverthewords/pseuds/wanderingoverthewords
Summary: Sometimes, Jonathan really misses being afraid. Edward just wishes he had a healthier way of dealing with this.(Prompt request from Tumblr.)
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	Another Fearless Episode

**Author's Note:**

> Characters: Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow, Edward Nygma; mentions of Batman, unnamed guards and patients of Arkham Asylum, Bernie.
> 
> Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma.
> 
> Warnings: death threats; lots of mention of self-harm and self-experimentation, blood, suicide, urination; implied and referenced murder.
> 
> Notes: Probably more angsty than intended but meh. This is what came to me.
> 
> All material belongs to DC Comics (although, my interpretations of the characters are used). 
> 
> Prompt request from riddle-me-ducc, from a Tumblr drabble list: "I can hardly resist - could you do 31 ("You may be an idiot, but you're my idiot.") for our local dorks Eddie and Jon?"
> 
> A WanderVerse fic.

When Jonathan came home after two days of absence, he was expecting a few things: for Edward to ask him where he’d been, not with passive-aggression or worry because two days was next to nothing compared to how long Jonathan had disappeared in the past, especially when Halloween came around. He expected Edward to take one look at him, see his sunken eyes and pale complexion (paler than normal) and realise what he’d done. He expected Edward to check his arms, see the bandage poking out from his trench coat’s sleeve, figure out that there were new poke marks amongst the old cluster, and then he expected Edward to get angry.

Jonathan was a very good psychologist and he knew his Edward well, for all of those things happened.

He entered their shared home and Edward stepped out of the kitchen, hugging a bowl to his chest as his left hand stirred with a wooden spoon. His green eyes were trained upon it.

“Hello, dear. Good research was conducted, I hope. Which hideout did you venture out to then, hm? The one in the Diamond District? I hope so; last time _I_ was there, the place was _filthy._ You need to take better care of your labs, otherwise they won’t be sterile enough for -”

Edward raised his gaze then and locked it upon Jonathan, and his words left him. He looked his partner up and down, saw the dark circles around his eyes and his pale skin, then he looked to his arm and saw the sliver of white poking out from his coat sleeve.

Jonathan saw any friendliness and relief leave his face; Edward pressed his lips together and nodded once, then turned to walk back into the kitchen.

“Okay,” he said simply.

Jonathan watched him go, and since he knew Edward so well, he didn’t follow him. Instead, he removed his shoes and coat and set them aside, then walked passed the kitchen to go and sit down on the middle sofa of the three in the living room, slouching and resting his head against the cushions.

Edward didn’t want to talk right now, he knew, and Jonathan didn’t want to talk either, truth be told. It was better to wait it out.

Jonathan didn’t know if he’d fallen asleep or even how much time had passed; Edward seemed to just appear out of thin air.

“We had a chat about this.”

Jonathan opened his eyes and looked over at him lazily. “Hm?”

Edward was leant against the sofa to the left of Jonathan’s, arms folded over his chest, glare fixed upon his partner.

“We had a chat about this. The self-harming? The experimenting on yourself? We had a chat about this.”

Jonathan observed him for a moment, then licked his lips and drawled, “Weren’t so much a chat, more you tellin’ me ya’d kill me if you found me doin’ it.” He held up a finger. “Ya can’t kill me, by the way, cause ya never _saw_ me do it. Ta quote you exactly.”

Edward’s eyes narrowed at him and Jonathan learned very quickly that his brand of humour was not appreciated in this scenario. It was a rarity for Jonathan Crane to fool around anyway; he’d picked a very bad time to try it out.

Jonathan dropped his hand and stared at Edward expectantly.

Edward stared back, then shrugged. “So, go on, then. Walk me through it. Tell me why you, Jonathan Crane, he who cannot feel fear, cooped himself up in his lab for two days, injecting himself with fear toxin. You haven’t felt fear in years; why would you possibly think it could happen now?”

Jonathan frowned and averted his gaze.

Why had he thought it would work now? Well, the truth was…he hadn’t.

The part of his brain that had remained coherent throughout the entire episode - perhaps the section of his brain that Scarecrow lived in, Scarecrow who would occasionally be the smart one by trying to get his child to stop hurting himself - had tried to tell him that there no chance of his toxin making him afraid. He would not get the results he hoped for, no matter how many strains of toxin he pumped into his arm, no matter how many poke marks he added to the dotted scars from years ago, no matter how many times he tested if he would be too afraid to cut into his own flesh.

But he’d had to _try._ It stung far too much to watch his victims writhe with terror before him and know he couldn’t feel that too. He missed it when Batman was gliding toward him and he would panic and try to formulate some sort of plan or ask Scarecrow to handle the Bat for him; now, he would only get delighted or irritated or upset or even confused to see the Bat, his other emotions making up for the space where fear should’ve been.

He should’ve been afraid on his first date with Edward; he, a forty-four year old man at the time, who had never been on a date before, who hadn’t had a crush since he was a teenager, whose only crush had turned around and revealed him to be a homosexual to their very religious hometown. He hadn’t felt afraid at all sitting opposite Edward at a dinner table, glasses of wine in their hands and dye in their hair to disguise them from the general public.

He _wished_ he’d felt afraid of dating Edward. Maybe things would’ve been easier, in the beginning.

Then again, if he’d been afraid, would they have turned out as they were now? Comfortably living together under the same roof, sleeping in the same bed, eating the same food, working together on the same crimes just because? It’d been a huge change once upon a time, now Jonathan couldn’t imagine his life any other way. Not that he would tell Edward that.

Perhaps he was putting too much thought into this…

The point was, his fear hadn’t returned, it wouldn’t, and he knew that. He’d just…really wanted it to.

“I didn’t,” Jonathan admitted.

Edward scoffed out a sarcastic laugh, waved a hand in the air as if telling his imaginary audience to get a load of _this,_ then snapped, “Well, that just makes your antics even more _stupid.”_

Jonathan didn’t reply. He wasn’t going to admit to being stupid, his honesty only went so far. He was just going to let Edward be mad. It was easier that way.

“I mean, _really._ You lock yourself away for two days to try and experiment in something you know won’t happen. There’s no conceivable reason for your fear to return, considering its absence was caused by your overexposure to your own _toxin._ You haven’t _de_ creased your time around your toxin, so - what? How is this fear supposed to return?”

Edward threw his hands up in the air, then frantically mimed praying as he began to pace. “Should we ask the deities that watch over this fair city to return your fear to you? Hm? Should we ask - By _God!”_ Edward halted and spun around to face him, eyes wide. “Should we ask _Batman_ if _he’ll_ help us?! Surely, he would! He does love to try to _help_ his villains, doesn’t he?”

Jonathan stared a hard stare. “I’ve asked him, actually. After ya _sicced_ ‘im on me. He said ‘e couldn’t.”

Edward scoffed at the tone of accusation, then slapped on a wide smile and threw his arms dramatically into the air before slapping his hands to his hips and doubling over to smile in Jonathan’s face.

It took everything in Jonathan’s power not to lean forward and bite Edward’s nose off.

 _“Well!_ I _guess_ we’re _fresh out of luck!”_ Edward’s sarcasm dropped, as did his smile. “It would take _years_ of avoiding your toxin for your fear to return, as it _took_ years for the _damned stuff_ to _morph_ your _amygdala._ So your journey into self-mutilation was for _nought_ and you wasted time, energy and _my patience.”_

The two entered a staring contest, digging daggers into each other’s eyes through their glares alone. If either had a blade handy, they probably would’ve stabbed them into each other’s necks; Edward’s for his mocking attitude and his insensitivity to Jonathan’s misery, and Jonathan’s for being stupid and for willingly harming himself for no reason.

Neither wanted to back down, both were too competitive like that, but Edward’s anxiety proved stronger than Jonathan’s gloom, and so their contest was broken by Edward’s gaze flicking down to the bandage wrapped around Jonathan’s wrist.

Jonathan decided to break the silence by clearing his throat. “…What a lovely evaluation of my actions, Edward. I do so _thank you_ fer yer… _help.”_

Edward scoffed, turning his attention back to Jonathan’s face. “I _helped_ you the last time you had an _episode._ If it weren’t for me, you’d be _dead,_ either by your little _free-falling_ session or by _my_ death-trap.”

He huffed, disgusted, then looked to Jonathan’s bandages again. After a few seconds of staring, Edward growled in frustration, stomped his foot once, then turned and walked to the nearby bathroom.

Jonathan heard him rummaging around and decided to stay seated. If he moved, Edward would resort to harsher means, perhaps even go as far as nailing Jonathan down so he’d stay still. Jonathan wouldn’t have put it passed him; Edward could be quite dramatic when he was pissed off.

Edward returned to him with a first aid kit and huffed again as he sat down beside him on the couch. He snatched Jonathan’s right arm, and Jonathan stared at the green painting on the wall opposite them as Edward grumbled to himself.

“Just _look_ at these bandages, they’re _filthy._ How can you possibly expect it to heal like _this?_ God’s sake, you’re so stupid. How can you be so stupid? It’s not _possible_ to be so stupid…”

Edward unwrapped his bandages, making Jonathan wince in discomfort, then leaned forward to analyse the cut.

“Honestly, you’re such an idiot. How are you such an idiot? It’s physically impossible for someone to be so dumb - _How_ are you…?”

He huffed again and tugged at Jonathan’s arm, damn-near yanking it out of its socket as he forced Jonathan to stand.

“Get _up._ It needs to be cleaned - You really are an _idiot._ God’s sake…”

Jonathan didn’t reply, simply allowed himself to be dragged to the bathroom. He stared into the bathroom mirror as Edward forced his wrist under the faucet; he looked more of a wreck than usual, probably in need of a good shower and a hot meal. He wanted to ask Edward what was for dinner, but Edward would only glare at him and turn the tap to boiling hot, so he kept quiet.

 _“So_ stupid. Why do I associate with you? You’ll ruin my reputation by being so stupid. Come here, you need disinfectant and fresh dressing. You’re a _doctor,_ for God’s sake, you should _know_ all of this…”

Edward dragged Jonathan back into the living room, Jonathan acting like a sack of potatoes and staring into space, not saying a word. Anything would bring about more of Edward’s wrath, and Jonathan was too tired to deal with it right now.

If he’d had any fear toxin on hand, he could’ve just sprayed it in Edward’s face and sat back to relax to the sound of his screams. Unfortunately, he’d left it back at his lab.

Rookie mistake.

Edward finally quietened down as he replaced the wrapping on Jonathan’s cut, besides to point out that Jonathan had cut over the scar he’d obtained from experimental self-harming in the past and how he’d just given himself a double scar. He did, however, continue to scowl as he worked, and Jonathan took a lazy glance at him.

He didn’t show it much and it didn’t occur terribly often, but Edward could be quite the worrier when it came to Jonathan’s condition, though Edward wasn’t the coddling type. His worry was shown through anger, either at Jonathan or whoever put Jonathan into the state Edward found him in. He could berate Jonathan for hours for endangering himself without good cause; when it came to outside perpetrators, Edward showed his concern for his partner by getting revenge if Jonathan wasn’t going to, for whatever reason.

Several inmates and guards of Arkham Asylum had returned home to find their families the victims of supposed group suicide. No suspicion was ever felt by the police, given how genuine the scenes looked, but those who came home knew. They could hear Edward’s voice in their heads as the bodies were taken away: “I’m the _Riddler._ I know _everything.”_

Worry was a branch off of anxiety and anxiety was a branch off of fear and thus Jonathan couldn’t really feel worried. He supposed he sometimes felt a tad concerned or invested in situations, but where worry should’ve been, sadness or rage usually took over.

Still, he wondered if his fear had never left him, if he would be concerned for Edward as much as Edward secretly was for him. Maybe. He couldn’t imagine his life without Edward anymore; any threat to Edward’s existence probably would’ve set off a sense of dread. He wondered what he would do in response if Edward was killed. Hard to say; he’d never felt grief before.

Jonathan took his gaze off of Edward and put it upon the painting, _Gotham In Green,_ on the wall opposite them.

“…I just,” he said slowly, considering his words carefully and coming up short, “…wanted it to work.”

“Yes, well,” Edward griped, “I want a boyfriend who isn’t emotionally stunted, so I suppose neither of us are getting what we really want, hm?”

Jonathan didn’t reply, only glanced at him again.

Edward finished bandaging Jonathan’s wound and returned the first aid kit to the bathroom, then he came back and sat down beside Jonathan again.

The two sat in silence for a few moments, then Edward spoke.

“Your obsessions are going to be the death of you one day,” he said curtly, his stare fixated on the wall, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded in his lap.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jonathan could see Edward’s index finger tapping a steady rhythm against the top of his other hand, an example of some of the anxious fidgeting Edward’s OCD forced upon him.

Jonathan snorted. “Look who’s talkin’.”

“But mark my words.”

Jonathan let out a pained yelp and hiss as Edward suddenly reached across and grabbed Jonathan’s wrist, digging his fingers into the cut he’d just bandaged up. Jonathan tried to fight back to get Edward to let go, but Edward held firm, head turned to him to deliver a death glare.

“If you ever partake in this silliness again,” Edward said, a growl beneath his tone, “if you _ever_ return to me with self-inflicted wounds again, I _will_ kill you - _whether or not_ I catch you doing it, just to _save_ you of the chance of killing _yourself._ That’s a _promise._ Understand me?”

Jonathan nodded quickly; anything to get Edward to let go. He was sure his cut had started to bleed again.

“Good.” Edward’s fingers unwound from Jonathan’s wrist and Jonathan scrambled to get the limb away from him.

He would let Edward get away with that; he deserved it.

“Now,” Edward said pointedly, then his expression softened and his tone lost its anger, “come back to me, Jon.”

Jonathan assessed his injury, turning his arm over in his hand to check if the wound would need a new coat of bandages so soon, dubbed it fine for now, then looked at Edward.

By all means, Jonathan Crane wasn’t a man of conversation, and Edward was definitely the cuddly one in their relationship, but to sit there and stare at the wall, barely snarking back at Edward when he called him stupid and threatened to stop associating with him, no trying to tend to his wound himself and waving Edward away, no escaping to his office and locking himself in? It wasn’t like him. Still stuck in his crisis episode, even coming home to Edward and their domestic bubble, Jonathan wasn’t himself and wasn’t with Edward.

He considered his reply, then sniffed. “…Thought ya didn’t want to associate with me anymore. Somethin’ ‘bout me bein’ an idiot?”

“Oh, you _are_ an idiot,” Edward replied simply. “Smart in your own right, in your chosen fields, but overall, with your lifestyle? You’re an idiot.”

Jonathan stared at him with half-lidded eyes, then blinked slowly.

Edward stared back, then sighed through his nose, shutting his eyes in defeat. “…I stand by my point, but…”

He hesitated, then moved closer to his partner and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, resting his other hand on the side of Jonathan’s head and using it to pull him closer.

Jonathan let him move him until his head was rested against Edward’s temple, a loose but intimate hug from Edward to Jonathan. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but it felt good to be in Edward’s arms again; there’d been a distinct lack of hugs during his two days away.

“You may be an idiot,” Edward said, “but you’re _my_ idiot. And I’d _like_ to keep it that way, for as long as possible, if you don’t mind.”

Jonathan looked in Edward’s direction. “…C’n manage that.”

“Good. Then come _back_ to me, Jon.”

Jonathan considered it, then shut his eyes and simply breathed.

His fear wasn’t going to come back, not overnight and not in a year, but he couldn’t allow that to take him out of the game. He could always decrease his exposure to his toxin, but that would mean abandoning his life’s work, and he wasn’t at retiring age just yet; his hair wasn’t even fully grey. Plenty of years left, perhaps not with fear in his system, but…perhaps with Edward by his side.

And that…Why, that made it…rather bearable. A worthy distraction, in the very least.

Jonathan sucked in a breath, pushed his arms under Edward’s to rub his eyes, then he exhaled calmly.

“…I’ve slept,” he said, “a _lot_ over the last couple o’ days.”

“Have you?” Edward asked, his tone of fondness. He pressed a kiss to Jonathan’s head.

“Yeah. My toxin still jus’ makes me drowsy. Was like takin’ one nap after another.”

“Hm. Lucky you. I’ve also been sleeping - by myself, in a large bed, a distinct emptiness beside me. Perhaps you could fix that tonight.”

The right side of Jonathan’s lips pulled up in a half-smile.

“You owe Bernie an apology, by the way,” Edward added. “She was not amused when her meals were delivered by the strange man her father lives with.”

Jonathan chuckled, a noise Edward felt against the side of his head, making him smile too.

“She’s a forgivin’ soul,” he replied, then frowned. “…Didn’t pick ‘er up, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” Edward said with a sigh. “I put her food in her dish, in her cage, and left her to her own devices.”

“Didn’t ya even clean ‘er cage?”

“I’m not touching _that._ She does her business in there! Love her or not, darling, she still roams around in her own urine.”

Jonathan snorted again. Edward’s aversion to his pet mouse could be either annoying or amusing; hearing him complain about typical animal behaviour was on the funnier side of the spectrum. He’d usually be perturbed by Edward going anywhere near her - people in general weren’t allowed to _breathe_ near her - but it was an exception when Jonathan was out and Bernie was unsupervised.

“I’ll tend ta her,” Jonathan said, starting to pull away from Edward, who stopped him with a hand on his bicep.

“Not yet; do that later.” Edward stood and grabbed for Jonathan’s hand, pulling him into standing up too. “First, you can come and make dinner with me. I’ve played the part of your house-husband long enough for this week. We’re not even _married,”_ he added as an afterthought.

Jonathan sniffed, then nodded once. He put a hand to Edward’s head, pulled him closer, then pressed a kiss to Edward’s forehead. He let him go and simply observed as Edward raised his head to look at him, grinning brightly.

Edward leaned up and the two shared a tender kiss, something else Jonathan had lacked in the last two days, then Edward grinned at him again and walked with him to the kitchen.

The image of Edward’s delighted grin and loving, green gaze saved in his brain, Jonathan concluded that this new life that Edward had introduced him to, their little domestic bubble, really could make living without fear more bearable.


End file.
